


incongruity

by corvuss



Series: Introspective Bruce and Hulk Stuff [1]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Bruce Banner-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Introspection, Mental Health Issues, Protective Hulk (Marvel), Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-16 09:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18091844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvuss/pseuds/corvuss
Summary: It was always going to end this way.





	incongruity

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn't read the tags, there's a pretty graphic depiction of a suicide attempt here. 
> 
> Poor Bruce. :(

Bruce has been walking up the mountain for hours now. He wonders, foggily, if Betty's seen his note, if she's crying, or relieved, or if she knows what he's really planning.  
  
_Here._  
  
He sighs, and puts his backpack down. They're at the edge of a rocky outcrop, overlooking the massive valley below. It's beautiful, and he supposes it's a good a spot as any, supposes they can't stall this any longer, supposes he's far enough from civilization that if anything goes wrong all that will be destroyed is forest.   
  
_Good boy. We're so close._   
_  
I know. I'm sorry._

 

He's so tired of fighting it. It's not worth it, anymore, not after what happened at the base, not after what happened to the village, not after learning the military's after him, to turn him into a weapon.  
  
Too many people hurt.   
  
It's not _worth_ it.   
  
The rest of his head has gone uncharacteristically silent. The Hulk is asleep, unaware, no roars of protest or defensive quips. Maybe the tranqs helped, but part of him thinks it's acceptance.

 

He doesn't know what's doing this, and he's not even sure he gets a say in the matter. There's a part of him still holding onto his father's words - a part of him that believes a demon took possession of him a long time ago. He was cursed from the beginning, and when it's over, he'll burn in Hell where he belongs, with every other monster.

 

The more likely case is that he's just crazy. (He's just crazy, and if anyone notices he's gone, they'll breathe a sigh of relief.)

 

In the end, it doesn't matter. He'll never get to find out.

  
It's just him and the demon now, alone, just as it should be.   
  
He can feel his control slipping, but it's not like Hulking out, no doubling over in pain, no gruesome transformation. Just a sick, leaden feeling that spreads from his chest to his arms and he doesn't fight it, doesn't fight the inevitable, just watches as his hands move to unzip his bag and take the revolver from its holster.

 

He lets it sit there for a moment, barely registering the cold metal against his palms, the weight of the thing.  
  
_For the record, Bruce, I'm sorry it had to be this way._   


...That's new.

  
_I know. It's okay._   
  
_You're doing the right thing._   
  
Bruce doesn't respond to that, just a quiet nod of agreement. He knows this should've happened a long time ago, should've happened when he was eight, fourteen, thirty-four at the site of the bomb. He'll go out the same way it all started and the same way it's always been, hopeless, a little scared, without any other choice. He knows he deserves more pain, a long and drawn out death, so the universe can get its vengeance on him. So justice can finally be served.   
  
But a bullet will do in a pinch. He can't risk waking the Hulk.   
  
He's almost beside himself as he takes off his shirt, affixes the monitor to his chest. It's something he finished a few days ago; when his heart stops beating, it will release a formula that dissolves his body within a few hours. Not great for the environment, but it ensures no one will find him after the fact.   
  
Slowly, he crushes the thumb drive containing all his research under a rock, keeps the pieces clutched in his hand so they, too, will be lost with him. That didn't feel as bad as he thought it would. It was silly, really, to think there was a chance for a cure, for a life. This just adds to the finality of it all.

 

Bruce breathes.   
  
_Alright_ , he says. _I'm ready._   
  
_I'm proud of you_ , it replies, and it's the first time he's ever heard that. It feels good, really, to know he's finally doing the right thing. It's been so long.   
  
_You can sleep now, Bruce. I'll take it from here. You deserve the rest._   
  
_No_ , he shakes his head as the bullets are taken from their case, as the revolver is loaded. His hands are surprisingly steady. _No, I want to be here till the end._   
  
_Okay_. There's no fighting, no protest. Bruce exhales slowly.  
  
The safety's clicked off, the muzzle pressed up against the roof of his mouth. The metallic tang feels fuzzy and far away.

 

But no less real.  
  
_Look at the sky, Bruce. We've got ourselves a view._   
  
And look he does; it's all pinks and oranges and blues against the mountains, bathing everything in a warm hue. The shadows stretch far out across the valley. It's beautiful.  
  
He exhales. He's going to miss it here, really. In a perfect world, he'd get to stay, get to explore it, get to research every nook and cranny with the hunger for knowledge that once drove him.

 

But this is not a perfect world, and he doesn't deserve to taint it any longer.

 

Still, he doesn't close his eyes as he does it.

 

\--

 

He comes to in the middle of a clearing, and when he peeks through his fingers, the trees are all broken around him like toothpicks. The fact that he survived doesn't register with him - rather, he doesn't _want_ it to register. He stays curled in on himself, arms pulled protectively over his face in a sorry attempt to block out the light. Maybe he'll lose consciousness if he just lays here. Maybe the universe will show him some mercy.

 

But his head is pounding, and the rocks on the ground dig sharply into his back, uncomfortable reminders that he's _alive_.

 

_Banner stupid._

 

Oh, _there_ it is. Of course. A broken sound escapes his chest. He almost missed the big guy.

 

_Banner stupid, but Hulk heal for you. Stop trying to die._

 

_I- I'm sorry._

 

 _It's okay. I help,_ Hulk rumbles.

 

He's not mad. Why isn't he _mad_ ? The moment Bruce realizes his hand is stroking his upper arm in a self-soothing gesture, he freezes for a second, a _“You don't deserve this”_ coming to the forefront of his mind.

 

...No, actually, it feels nice. He lets it continue. There's an understanding, that they both almost died, that right now isn't the time for fighting. He's still extremely lightheaded, and something in him wonders if he's still dying.

 

_Ugh, no, Banner need water. Come on._

 

Right. He's dehydrated. _Okay, okay._

 

He sits up slowly, and he's not quite sure if it's him or the Hulk doing it. Does it matter? Every muscle in his body aches.

 

He's not upset that it didn't work. But he's not glad he's still here, either.

 

He staggers towards the sound of a babbling brook in the distance, letting his feet sink in the soft, warm grass, a welcome change from the rocks he woke up on.

 

It's a shorter walk than he expected. He all but collapses by the side of the water, cupping it in his shaking hands and lapping it up like a dog. It might not be totally pure, but it's cold and running, and if the Hulk could take a bullet to the head, he could definitely metabolize whatever's in the snow runoff.

 

He lays there for a while with his feet submerged, the iciness grounding him, watching the water ripple over the smooth pebbles underneath. He realizes he has no idea where he left his pack; likely it's miles away on some cliff. But the valley is full of dandelions and wild strawberries, and he has a water source. It's all unnecessary anyways; he's effectively immortal. He just doesn't really feel like dying again.

 

_Hulk can help. Jump fast, know where to go._

 

 _Thank you._ And he means it this time.

 

He'll find a payphone somewhere, maybe get a kind stranger to lend him some change. Crash at Jen's place for a while, even. It's not safe, but fuck it, what _is_? He feels like shit and wants a hug, damnit.

 

There's a rumble of pride deep within him, and he feels just a little bit warm.

 

Bruce closes his eyes, letting the sunlight wash over him, and sighs, giving in to the gentle pressure building in his head. The transformation is smooth this time around, as fluid as the water he's standing in.

 

Maybe, for now, they're going to be okay.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting in my files for a while, and just cleaned it up over the past few days and decided to post it. For the prompt, "control".
> 
> I love the Hulk as a scared inner child but he's also a protective figure, a survival instinct, desperate to keep fighting. Suicidal Bruce + Survivalist Hulk is a really interesting dichotomy to explore.


End file.
